


Ghost Waltz

by jawsandbones



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 00:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8945536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawsandbones/pseuds/jawsandbones
Summary: Yuuri finds exactly what he's skating for.Sparks ignite at his touch, electricity buzzing underneath his fingertips when he reaches out to touch the television. Pixels stitch underneath every finger, the image a ghost of the real thing. A figure races across the screen, bright and dazzling, brilliant and radiant. He’s never seen anything like it before. Hair like snow swirls around the figure and his fingers press against glass even harder. Skates against ice, snow against the slice of metal. The jump. The spin. The landing. There’s music in the air but a different music in this figures bones, travelling through electricity’s touch, settling itself in the core of him.





	

Sparks ignite at his touch, electricity buzzing underneath his fingertips when he reaches out to touch the television. Pixels stitch underneath every finger, the image a ghost of the real thing. A figure races across the screen, bright and dazzling, brilliant and radiant. He’s never seen anything like it before. Hair like snow swirls around the figure and his fingers press against glass even harder. Skates against ice, snow against the slice of metal. The jump. The spin. The landing. There’s music in the air but a different music in this figures bones, travelling through electricity’s touch, settling itself in the core of him.

His eyes widen, and all he can hear is that music he sees. The figure skates for him, and only for him. The announcer’s voice buzzes through speakers, a static on the edge of his brain which fades in and around every note. _Perfection_ he hears and knows that it is true. _Viktor Nikiforov_ he hears and he will never forget. _Another magnificent performance_ he hears and suddenly he needs to see every single one. Not from a broadcast.

Yuuri runs through his house, grabs his skates, and heads for the door. Breath billows out before him, dragon's breath in the night air as he runs for the rink. He ties his skates with shaking fingers, presses his glasses back up his nose. The first step always seems the hardest. He finds his balance, pushes out. Around and around, gathering speed, trying to find the rhythm of his own music. The jump. The spin. The fall.

Cold underneath his palms, biting against his cheek. He lays on the ice, panting with frustration, glasses skewed and lopsided. He grits his teeth and pushes himself back up, takes that first step once again. Finds the balance, gathers speed. He still doesn’t hear the music. He can’t feel it. The jump. The spin. The fall. Fists against ice, hair that falls in front of his face as he kneels forward. He pushes himself back up.

He pushes up and up and up until he is pushing against the ice of the Grand Prix. It’s not his ice. It’s ice that belongs to Viktor. Yuuri is an intruder, an interloper. Unworthy. How could he not be defeated? Bitter tears from a bitter heart, the failure sinking deep into his skin, inside his lungs, beating in time with his heart. Viktor wins gold. He places last. He doesn’t watch the awards ceremony. How can he explain? All he can say is he’s sorry.

Again and again, around and around, he skates without thought. Yuuri has left all other things behind, pretends to forget about the Grand Prix. He knows every move, every step of ‘Stay Close to Me’ by heart. He doesn’t feel the music the same way he does when he watches Viktor’s performance. His is poor imitation, a replica, a lacking copy.

Viktor sits upon his couch, phone in hand. He blinks disbelievingly at the figure upon the screen. This is… arms around his waist, passionately asking, politely begging, _be my coach, be my coach_. The sound of metal hitting ice, the spray of snow. Silence in the background, an echo in Yuuri’s bones. It’s not a hard decision. There’s no one to skate for anymore. Viktor packs his bags the moment the video ends.

He watches with seeming disinterest as Yuuri practices. Elbow on the barrier, hand holding his chin. Around and around, gathering speed. The jump. The spin. A hand that lands on the ice, keeps him moving. Yuuri grits his teeth and moves on. He doesn’t feel the eros he’s supposed to be skating to. Not yet. Viktor’s eyes follow him lazily and Yuuri feels them on his back. He would show him, he would show him. Viktor has no one to skate for, but Yuuri skates for him. He wonders if he knows.

He wonders if he knows when he pushes out onto the ice at Hasetsu. He wonders if he realizes at Chugoku, Shikoku, and Kyushu. He wonders if he’ll see it in Beijing. “If you mess up this free skate and miss the podium,” Viktor says, “I’ll take responsibility and resign as your coach.” Oh. So, he doesn’t. Everything’s so close to the surface already, he can’t stop the tears. Can’t stop the shouting.

“You don’t have to say anything! Just stand by me!”

It’s the first time Yuuri’s felt so relaxed on the ice. The first step is always the hardest, but this time it feels so easy. He pushes out, arms spread, and waits for the music to start. He hears it in himself before he hears it on the speaker. He knows these steps. He knows these jumps. He could practically skate it with his eyes closed. He would show Viktor, this time.

A streak of raven-hair that makes its way across the ice, metal that glides. The crowd is a blur, but Viktor is always clear statue to him. He keeps his eyes on Yuuri, never leaves him. Goosebumps in every pore, the barest buzz of electricity that flickers underneath his skin. Yuuri, breathing heavily, exhaustion in every pore, the jump, the spin, the fall – but it’s enough, enough, a quadruple flip for _him_.

Moving off the ice, calling his name, arms spread wide. He barely feels this fall. Viktor’s arms around him, a protective hand on the back of his head. Warm, wet, lips on his. “This was the only thing I could think of to surprise you more than you’ve surprised me,” Viktor says. A little huff of laughter, a relaxed sigh. His hands settle on Viktor’s back.

“Really?” Viktor’s forehead presses against his before he helps him up. Yuuri takes his hand, pushes off the ice, and stands on his own two feet.

For the first time in months, Yuuri skates without Viktor watching him. The ice swims underneath him at the Rostelecom cup. He can’t hear the music at all. Not this time. On the plane back to Hasetsu, he knows he needs to practice harder. There’s a fire, a drive, an urge to prove – not to himself, but to prove worthy of Viktor.

Like a puzzle piece coming together, he fits tightly in Viktor’s arms. “Please be my coach until I retire!” Hands that squeeze tighter at his back, Viktor pressing harder, a stuttering breath.

“I wish you’d never retire.” Hands winding into his jacket, soaking in human heat.

Yuuri arrives early to practice. He sneaks out while Viktor sleeps, carefully unravelling himself from the blankets. The arm that had been draped over Yuuri’s chest, now falls to the bed. Viktor starts, but does not wake, turns over in his sleep.

He doesn’t use the speakers. He keeps his phone in his pocket, plugs his earphones in. The first step is always the hardest. He moves round and round the ice, feeling the weight in his legs, the wind in his hair, and the music in his ears. Yuuri closes his eyes, does not skate his own program. Somehow, he always comes back to ‘Stay Close to Me.’

Viktor’s hands come to rest on the barrier that separates him from Yuuri. A figure that races across the ice, bright and dazzling, brilliant and radiant. Viktor’s never seen anything like it before. Hair like coal swirls around him, and his fingers bite into the wood of the barrier. Skates against ice, snow against the slice of metal. The jump. The spin. The landing. Viktor can see the music in Yuuri’s bones, _his_ routine, performed solely for _him_ , and the warmth settles in the core of him.

Yuuri opens his eyes, bending over, hands on his knees as he comes to a stop, pulls the headphones from his ears. “Yuuri.” His head shoots upwards, suddenly embarrassed, a hand covering his face as Viktor hops onto the ice. He falters when he reaches him, shoes slipping.

“Vitya!” Hands that reach out, grab Viktor’s arms, holds him steady. “Be careful,” Yuuri scolds. Viktor moves close to him, hands at Yuuri’s waist, and a smile on his face.

“I’ve never seen you skate like that before,” he says and Yuuri’s face colors red, looks away from Viktor’s gaze. “You looked so beautiful, Yuuri.”

“I was – thinking of you.” Yuuri squeezes his eyes closed. He feels hands on his face, cupping his cheeks, tilting his face upwards. A kiss that starts light, something sweet and sugary, turns melting and warm. Nipping at his bottom lip, a tongue that slides against his. They cling to each other, for balance, because they have to, because they need to, and Yuuri’s eyes are slow to open when Viktor pulls away.

“I know,” he says. There’s only one person Viktor wants to skate for.

**Author's Note:**

> Always welcome to [freak out over season 1 at my tumblr <3](http://jawsandbones.tumblr.com/)


End file.
